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Sunday, November 17, 2013

This is my most recent publication from the Halloween submissions at Thrills, Kills, n' Chills. http://tknc.wordpress.com/2013/10/29/halloween-special-dripped-with-blood-by-dana-c-kabel/I know my blog is in serious need of upkeep, updates and so forth. I've been away from the short form for a bit, working on the novel and some longer stories.You may have noticed the absence of the short story links. A collection is in the works and I will give you news as I get the news.Peace.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Tom looked up from his desk and saw his boss disappear
behind the mahogany door. Patterson was undone; he never said please.

Tom got up from his desk and followed.

“Please…come over to the window and look at this.”

Another “please,” Tom noted.

The view was beautiful from four stories up. There was a
park across the road with a jogging trail around a small lake, which meant
plenty of women in spandex shorts bouncing around it.

“There!” Patterson hissed, stabbing a finger against the
glass.

Tom followed the direction the finger was pointing in, to
the dirty white utility van parked across the street.

Tinted windows in front, no windows in the back, mud over
the plate…a serial killer van.

That was what they jokingly called them when he was a
kid…stranger danger…look out for the
serial killer van!

“Y-you see it, don’t you?”

If Tom hadn’t noticed it before, he certainly would have
when the van suddenly peeled away from the curb and tore down the road,
narrowly missing a crossing pedestrian.

Patterson stumbled back with his hand on his chest like
he had just been hit with something or was having a heart attack.

“Jesus,” Tom said. “He almost killed that lady.”

“What the hell am I going to do?” Patterson buried his
face in his hands.

“I…don’t know if there’s anything you can do at this
point,” Tom said.

“You idiot, you don’t understand…” Ah, this was the
Patterson he was used to.

“That van has been parked on my road every night for a
week now. When I leave in the morning, he follows me. And now he’s stalking me
here.”

“Why don’t you call the cops?”

Patterson laughed.

“I called the cops. They can’t do anything about a van
parked on a public street where parking is allowed. He tried to run me down a
couple of days ago…came within an inch of me, I swear. When I called the cops
again I found out why they won’t help me.”

Tom raised his eyebrows waiting.

“That little prick, Murphy…in accounting? His uncle is
the head pig in the police department.”

Murphy hated
Patterson, just as everyone else on the floor did. Two days before Patterson announced
that as a result of the faltering economy that raises and bonuses were indefinitely
suspended, he went out and bought a brand new Lexus to replace the year-old
Lexus he had been driving.

The employees hated Tom too, because someone let it slip
that he did, in fact, receive the yearly bonus and raise. Tom was the number
two. He was the Smithers to Patterson’s Mr. Burns.

“Still, if someone is threatening you…”

“That’s the problem. This bastard hasn’t made an actual
threat. Murphy’s uncle told me, you’re a fifty year old guy living alone with
no children. A van parked outside your house just isn’t that sinister. Call me
if they actually try something. Then he laughed at me.”

“Man,” Tom said. “Well sir, I wish I could do something,
but…”

“That’s why I called you in here. You’re
ex-military…fought in the war and all that…”

“I didn’t really see a lot of action over…”

“Don’t bullshit me, Saddler. I know you killed people
over there.”

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Mr. Patterson, but
I’m not going to kill a guy for sitting in a van across from your house.”

“Jesus Christ, you sound like the cops.”

Tom shook his head and started to walk. Patterson
wouldn’t fire him. Nobody would put up with the shit that he put up with.

“Wait, Tom…please…”

The third please was almost sickening.

“I’m not asking you to kill anyone. I just…I need
protection. Could you just…help me, until I figure out what this fucker wants?”

“I have a wife and kids at home and I already put in
fifty plus hours a week here.”

“I’ll pay you. A lot. And…and you can take a couple of
weeks off when this is over. Go on a nice vacation with the family.”

At quitting time, the other employees left with the usual
dirty looks and smirks on their faces. There was kiss-ass Tom, staying late
again. The only guy with his nose planted so firmly up the boss’s ass that he
couldn’t see sideways.

“See ya, dick,” the Murphy kid said.

Tom glared at him until he was out the door.

A half-hour later, Patterson emerged from his office. He
was staggering and there was booze on his breath.

“A productive day, sir?” Tom chided.

“Fuck you, Saddler. Let’s go.”

Tom shut his computer off and got up. He had the whole
afternoon to realize that Patterson had no intention of following through on
his promises. He would talk his way out of floating anything more than a mere
pittance to Tom and indefinitely put off the two weeks’ vacation he was
promised.

“Here,” Patterson said when they got in the elevator. He
pushed a brown bag into Tom’s hands. There was a gun in the bag, and some loose
bullets rattling around.

“What the fuck! I don’t need this.”

“Yes you do. Now make sure it’s loaded!”

It was dark outside. Patterson was holding onto the side
of the building when the van screeched to a halt on the sidewalk. The side
panel door slid open. Patterson screamed shrilly.

Tom turned around and smashed him in the face with the
butt of the .38. Patterson fell to his knees trying to hold in the blood that
was spraying out of his broken nose.

“You fucker, Saddler!”

Tom heeled back and kicked him in the ribs.

“Hurry up,” he shouted.

The Murphy kid jumped out of the van and grabbed one end.
Tom grabbed the legs and they threw him into the van like a sack of shit.

Friday, February 22, 2013

My next piece of twisted writing can be found in an anthology from Gutter Books called Out of the Gutter 8. The story is called You Oughtta be in Pictures that I should have been pimping in time for Valentine's day. It's a rather romantic little piece of flash about sex and porno and snuff...er, I mean stuff.

Okay, I really can't believe I forgot to put this one up. My friend from across the pond, David Barber, gave this story that I had so much fun writing, a home at Thrillers, Killers 'n' Chillers. Despite my various sultry dalliances with every brand of alcohol under the sun...including Listerine and rubbing alcohol, I have never taken methamphetamine. Met lots of folks who have. Such a fun drug...for other people to take. I guess the closest I have come to that kind of sick high is drinking lethal doses of lethally strong coffee. Oh well, if any authentic meth heads have a problem with the real feel of the story, drop me a line. I'm not in the book, so you'll have to try every variation of every ten digit sequence of numbers you can list and systematically eliminate everyone who answers the phone that isn't me. It won't take you long...if you're a real meth head. Or you can read and comment here http://thrillskillsnchills.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2012-10-07T12:33:00%2B01:00&max-results=10&start=8&by-date=false

I admit it...I am bad. In my forty-three years on this earth, there have been many things that I have been bad at. At various times in my life I have been a bad student, a bad athlete, a bad musician, a bad friend, father, husband, worker...etcettera etcettera, blah-blah-blah. Never mind all of that, I did not intend this to be a post on self-degredation and self-loathing. Nay, my ego demands that I brag from time to time about all of the things that I am good at.

For instance, you will never hear me admit that I am a bad writer. My writing is something that I have been complemented on since I was a small boy, and I have had nothing but time to improve upon it.

Having said that, a good writer does not a good blogger make. My entries are few and far between. The only time I pay attention to this ethereal little corner of the Internet that I can kind of claim as my own, is when I have a story appearing somewhere in print or evailable online.

This serves as an attempt to plug my product and archive a new published story. However, in light of the recent geographical changes in my life, I seem to have forgotten this dark little hideout entirely.

The greatest part of this sin is that I have had work published that I have plugged on facebook and have not archived or plugged here in six months. I was almost afraid that when I tried to log on, I would find virtual yellow police tape roping off entrance to my own crime scene.

So to begin mending this grievous error, I am announcing that way back on December 10, 2012, Court Merrigan published one of my favorite stories in the Bareknuckles Pulp online magazine over at Out of the Gutter. Calling Home is featured in issue no. 20, and you can find it here http://www.outofthegutteronline.com/2012/12/bareknuckles-pulp-no-20-calling-home.html as well as on the link to the left along with all of my other published works. Thanks Court. Next time I won't drop the ball on timely pimping.